Playing Doctor
by Asp Pentacle97
Summary: Jack patches Riddick up after he comes home from a job. Rated for the language and blood.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Riddick. If I did, there would be so many more movies and Jack would not have died. I, however, am forced to use this nonprofit means of expressing my idea about this fantastic character. So don't sue me.

**Rating:** This is rated M because of swearing and gore (no sex, despite the title). Honestly though, I don't know how any Riddick fic _isn't_ rated M, for the language at the least.

**Author's Note:** Jack is sixteen at the time when this is set and has been living with Riddick instead of Imam, like it should have been.

**Playing Doctor**

Jack could smell the blood as soon as he walked in the door. After living with one of the most notorious convicts known to man for four years, it wasn't any surprise that Jack had come to recognize the coppery scent of blood. She could tell the difference between old and fresh, animal and human, and even sometimes distinguish whose blood it was.

And this time the blood was human, fresh, and Riddick's.

Jack leapt up from the couch where she had been reading and rushed into the kitchen/entryway. There he stood, leaning over, trying to get his boots off (Jack pitched a fit whenever he tracked mud, and other substances, into the house).

"Riddick?" Jack asked, unsure of whether her nose had been right. There was some blood on his hands, but it was dried and probably came from his victim. He didn't look hurt. After all, this was the man who had killed a vicious, blood-thirsty, nocturnal flying creature bare-handed. One puny human opponent certainly couldn't have harmed him.

"Hey, Jack," Riddick said, straightening up and smiling at her. In that one movement Jack knew she was right. He was hurt. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about him, but something about the way he had moved when he straightened up just screamed that something was wrong.

"How badly are you injured?" Jack asked, looking at him intently, trying to see where the wound was. She couldn't see any blood on his clothes, but then again, that was the reason he wore them. Black was good for hiding bloodstains.

"What the hell are you talking about, kid?" Riddick asked, shucking his boots off and closing the door, turning around to make sure it was locked securely. "I'm not hurt."

"Bull shit," Jack snapped, stepping forward, hands on hips, looking sternly at the bigger man. "I can smell blood on you."

"Yeah, I'm sure you can," Riddick said, waving his blood-covered hands at her, smirking condescendingly, before pushing past her and going to the stove. "Got anything to eat?"

Jack turned and glared at him, fuming. So, he was going to play this game, was he? Act like she was an idiot and be all strong until he was along, then try and stitch himself up. Well fine. If he wanted to play, she would be more than willing.

"Yeah, there's so meat in the oven," Jack said, allowing her voice to sound bright and cheerful. "I knew you'd be hungry when you got home, so I cooked you up a couple and steaks and put them in there to keep them warm."

"Thanks," Riddick said, bending down slightly to open the oven and grab the meat. Jack watched him intently. When he moved his black tank top stuck to his back in strange places. As if it was being held there by something. Like drying blood, for instance.

Jack waited until Riddick had set the plate of steak on the stove and turned around to get some silverware before she stepped up to the man and threw her arms around his neck, catching him by surprise.

"I'm so glad you're home, Riddick," she said, squeezing him tightly. "It got awfully lonely without you around." Riddick was still for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around her in return. Jack knew that that rare soft smile was probably on his face right now, the one he claimed he didn't have, but which showed up every once in a while.

"Most teenage girls are excited when their guardians leave," Riddick rumbled, not forcing Jack to let go, which was surprising to the teenager. "That way they can throw drunken parties and have lots of boys over." Jack snorted.

"Yeah, because people just love being around me," she said sarcastically, leaning her head against Riddick's chest and letting her arms slowly in their way down.

"Those little shitheads at school haven't been giving you trouble have they?" Riddick asked, his voice dropping to a growl. Jack pulled away enough to shake her head.

"Nah, they're just scared of me," she said, grinning cheekily up at him, wishing he had taken off his goggles so she could see his eyes. "After all, my "uncle" is a high-ranking military official." Riddick laughed at that, reaching up with one hand to slip the black goggles off. He always could read her mind. Jack used the chance to let her hand fall to his waist and innocently wrap her arm around his back. The cloth was wet, just like she knew it would be.

"Alright, kid, quit hanging on me like a damn leech, I'm fucking starved," Riddick said, and if Jack hadn't been listening for it she wouldn't have noticed the slight thread of unease in his voice as he quickly shifted her hand away from his back.

"Riddick, wash up!" Jack scolded as he went to reach for silverware with blood-covered hands. The convict glared murderously at her, his luminescent eyes shining in the dim light, but she just folded her arms and glared back. Finally Riddick turned away, growling at her, and began to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

Jack smirked, sitting down at the table. He soon joined her, digging into his food with gusto. He made appreciative noises as he chowed down with the speed one only learns in either big families or prison. When he was halfway finished, Jack stood.

"I'm pretty beat, I think I'm going to turn in for the night," she said, stretching and pretending to yawn. Riddick merely nodded, still intent on his meat. Jack turned away, grinning to herself, and quickly made her way up the stairs to the top floor, which contained Riddick's room, the bathroom, and her closet of a room. Walking over to her room, she opened and closed the door, then tiptoed the extra two feet and slid into the bathroom, tucking herself into the shower. She knew that if Riddick really was hurt, this was the first place he'd come. So she settled down to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon she heard him walking heavily up the stairs and towards the bathroom. She held her breath, hoping the smell of his own blood would be enough to mask her scent.

The door creaked open. Jack heard Riddick walk towards the sink. She peeked out of the shower, keeping low so he wouldn't see her in the mirror. He was standing in front of the sink, rubbing the back of his neck and shrugging his shoulders, trying to loosen up a little. Then he reached down and grabbed the edge of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion.

Jack nearly gasped in horror. His back was a sheet of red. Ragged cuts ran in every direction across his muscled skin, so plentiful that there seemed to be more wounds than flesh. Some looked like mere scratches, but others were still oozing blood.

"I thought you said you weren't fucking hurt," Jack snarled, stepping out of her hiding place, rage burning in her. Riddick whipped around at the sound of her voice, knife in hand. Registering who it was, he slammed the knife down on the edge of the sink, anger darkening his eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Jack?" Riddick demanded, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm, hauling her close and glaring down at her.

"I'm here because you wouldn't fucking admit to me that you were hurt and let me help," Jack snapped, completely unafraid of the man towering over her. "If you'd just fessed up when I asked I wouldn't have had to fucking ambush you!"

"Go to bed," Riddick snarled, shoving her towards the door. Jack dug her heels in, grabbing ahold of him and using him to anchor herself.

"No," she said belligerently. "Not when your back looks like it's gone through a goddamn knife factory. Some of those are going to need stitches."

"I can take care of myself, Jack," Riddick growled, glowering at the teenage girl in front of him.

"I'm well aware of that," Jack snapped, her patience quickly being used up by his stubbornness. "But just let me help. Even you will have a hard time stitching wounds on your back."

"I've been patching myself up for years," Riddick said, his voice deadpanning. "Long before you came along. I don't need your help." Jack's patience ran out.

"I fucking get that, Riddick!" she snarled, wishing she could just beat some sense into the larger man. "I know you're all alpha male and tough, that you don't need anybody! But has it ever occurred to you, you oblivious bastard, that maybe, just maybe, I want to help because I fucking care about you?"

"Why?" Riddick asked, unmoved by Jack's fury, tilting his head, looking at her curiously.

"Why what?" she ground out, chest heaving as she tried to rein in her temper.

"Why do you care?" Riddick asked, far too calm for Jack's liking.

"Because, you moron," Jack snapped, stepping forward and staring up into Riddick's face, her hazel eyes snapping with fire. "That's what family fucking does. They care about you and want to help you. They fix you a meal and mend your fucking wounds when you come home from killing some crazy motherfucker!"

"Oh really?" Riddick asked, one eyebrow raised. Jack nodded resolutely before adding, "Well, this family does." Riddick looked at her for a long time. Jack knew that the ball was in his court now. All she could do was wait and hope.

"Stitching equipment's in the top drawer, antiseptic's in the cabinet, I'll be downstairs," Riddick said finally, pushing past her and exiting the room. It took Jack a moment to realize she'd won.

"Like I don't know where the damn medical equipment is," Jack grumbled to herself, opening the correct drawers and gathering the required supplies. Then she turned, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Riddick sat at the table. His eyes were fixed on her, watching her as she set the stitching equipment and antiseptic on the table and walked over to the sink, wetting a towel.

"Lean forward," Jack ordered, returning to Riddick, damp rag in her hand. He complied without a word, leaning forward to give her better access to his back. She dabbed gently at the wounds, washing away as much of the blood as she could while she took stock of his injuries. Most of the cuts weren't deep enough to require stitches, but there were three, one that went from his right shoulder to the bottom of his shoulder blade, a second that ran nearly parallel to his spine, and a third that slashed diagonally across his lower back, that would need some if they were to heal correctly.

"What the hell happened?" Jack asked as she began to apply the antiseptic, partly because she wanted to distract him from the sting, but mostly because she wanted to know who had managed to cut up Riddick the Badass.

"Bastard shoved me through a window," Riddick replied, not even wincing as the stinging meds were applied to his wounds. "Fell on some metal when I hit the ground."

"Holy shit," Jack said, aware now that Riddick had gotten off easy. It could have been a lot worse.

"Alright, stand up and lean against the counter," Jack said after she finished disinfecting the wounds. "It's time to sew these deep ones up. I'm going to have to turn the lights on too, so close your eyes."

Riddick got up and did as instructed, leaning against the counter in a sort of vertical pushup and closing his eyes and Jack turned up the lights, blinking at the sudden brightness. She'd grown used to living in a constant state of semidarkness.

"Alright, here goes," Jack said, threading her needle and beginning to put in the stitches. Riddick didn't so much as grunt as she sewed his flesh back together. Jack shook her head at him. He, after all, was the one who had taught her how to stitch herself up, in case she got hurt and he wasn't able to get to her immediately. Those were his words. She smiled, thinking of how _never_ getting to her wasn't even an option to him. He took care of her so well. It was right that she do the same.

"There, done," Jack finally said, putting the last stitch in and snipping the thread. She put her things away and turned the lights down again. "You are now the proud owner of thirty-nine stitches." Riddick got up and moved his shoulders around a bit, testing his mobility.

"You rip those stitches and next time I'll used moonshine to clean your wounds," Jack growled, glaring sternly at the convict. "You have to rest for at least a day. I'd say three, but I know you hanging around for even one day will be a miracle. That means no fighting, no working out, no killing, no running, and no sex."

"Way to take the fun out of life," Riddick rumbled, glowering at her good-naturedly. Jack crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"If you try to leave, I _will_ handcuff you to your bed," she threatened, trying very hard not to grin.

"I didn't know you were so kinky, Jack," Riddick said, winking at his younger companion. Jack grinned, unable to stop herself.

"Well, I learned from the best," she shot back, smirking at Riddick. "After all, you're the one with the handcuffs."

"You never know when some hot woman will walk in and demand kinky sex," Riddick said, shrugging, his face completely blank. Jack rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to bed," she said, pretending to shudder. "The last thing I want to think about is your sex life." Riddick chuckled, ruffling her hair, something he knew Jack hated. She slapped his hand away, scowling at him and turning to walk away. But Riddick reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her back towards him. Jack looked at him in surprise as he gave her a one-armed hug.

"Thanks for patching me up, Jack," he said, grinning at her. Jack smiled back. She loved it when he softened up like this and actually let his humanity peek through. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, resting her face against his shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent before walking upstairs and settling into bed. She closed her eyes and let sleep swamp her.

It was late when the screaming started. Riddick leapt out of bed and rushed into Jack's room, shiv at the ready. But her room was empty, save for the teenage girl screaming on her bed. Riddick immediately went to her, grabbing her as she tried thrashing away from him. He knew it was a nightmare.

"Jack! Jack, wake up!" he called, shaking her gently, pinning her arms to her sides as she tried to claw at him. "Jack, it's me, it's Riddick. Shh, it's okay, it's okay kid, just wake up." Jack's eyes snapped open and she let out a sound that was half whimper, half moan, curling up in a ball facing away from him. He could smell the scent of her tears as she tried to hide them from him.

"Hey, easy there, it's okay, everything's okay," Riddick rumbled comfortingly, sliding into bed next to Jack and pulling her against him, letting her bury her head against his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. Soon she drifted back off to sleep, her fist still curled up in the material of his shirt.

Riddick watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling steadily, heart beating a constant comforting rhythm against his side. He looked down at the person who had just been a little scrap of a girl pretending to be a boy when he met her and who was growing into a confident and beautiful woman as he watched. A fierce feeling of protectiveness shot through the convict. Jack was right. They were family now. The first family he had ever known.

Leaning down, Riddick gently kissed Jack's forehead, then settled back against the headboard, pulling the young woman closer to him as he let himself drift off to safe, content with the knowledge that his family, his pack, was safe in his arms.

**A/N:** And that's that. I'm not sure if I should have added that little end blurb. I just wanted to sum of Riddick's feeling. I know some people will scream foul, saying Riddick is too OOC, but this is how I imagine he'd be with just Jack around. He may be a murderer, but he's not a monster and Jack has always brought out the best in him. So please, review and tell me your views on it. Comments and criticism welcome. Thank you for reading.

**P.S.** I'm thinking about making a second one that would be kind of a sequel to this, but which would involve them when they're much older and would be much more… affectionate. Review and let me know if you think it'd be worth writing.


End file.
